


Advent: Time

by FyrMaiden



Series: Klaine Advent 2015 [20]
Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Homophobic Attack, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrMaiden/pseuds/FyrMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine loses time. It slips through his fingers, vanishes in a blink. For all the things he lost in those minutes, he's also gained a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advent: Time

Blaine loses time. When he was a child, it happened in seconds. Blinks of his eyes that he missed, a skipped heartbeat, the drip of a tap that he never heard fall. He measured it in baseballs that he didn’t hit, and his mom shouting his name up to him that he didn’t hear. 

As he got older, seconds became minutes. Missed balls became whole conversations that he couldn’t recall, or getting a B on a test that should have been an A except he ran out of time. When he was 13, he lost five consecutive minutes that changed his life, and which ultimately meant the difference between running away safely and waking up on the concrete with his own blood on his tongue. (When he was 15, he would recall the ensuing two months as the most deeply ironic of his life; he lost no time at all during his recovery, and he’d give up every second.) 

As he ages, the slips never settle on a definite length. They never last longer than a handful of minutes, but they’re not anything he can learn to control either. He’s never learned to drive, can’t risk the red lights or the give way signs. He’s spent a lot of time trudging back from bus stops three on from the ones he needs. Time slips through his fingers like he’s trying to hold onto sand. 

Of all the slips he will never regret, though, there is the one that happened during his sophomore year. He lost three minutes in the bathroom, and wound up running late for practice with the choir he was in. He was rushing to make those minutes back up when a strange boy stopped him on the staircase, just as he checked his watch. “Excuse me?” he said, and Blaine had looked up at him and felt the world tilt for a moment, lurch around him, pitching like it did when he lost the length of a blink. He’d been beautiful, the boy on the stairs, and Blaine would have given up the whole afternoon just to stare at his face. Instead, he’d taken his hand and run with him, still a minute of his slip to make up. 

Blaine thinks, sometimes, when he feels Kurt’s hand drag him across a road, or when he pulls him up the subway steps and across the platform for an uptown train, that in the great stories, meeting his future when he was 15 years old would have restored normality. Instead, he misses simple things, important things - his daughter’s first step, the phone call from his dad about his lola, the thirty seconds of conversation with his mom where she told him that his dad had left her. Everyone who matters knows, but Blaine still misses the heartbeats he doesn’t have.

But there’s still Kurt. Who hasn’t always been easy and hasn’t always understood, and who has broken his heart more than once. But he’s constant, and he’s there, and he always smiles at Blaine like he’s the moon and stars when Blaine refocuses after each drift.

“There you are,” he says, and kisses him softly and holds his hand a little tighter, the cool of his ring solid against the warmth of Blaine’s fingers.


End file.
